


I Won't Fall

by Remyroo17



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:56:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1536635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remyroo17/pseuds/Remyroo17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joan wants to change things up in her sexual relationship with Jamie, but she doesn't exactly get what she's expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Joan stood outside the door, fixing her pencil skirt and tidying up her fuchsia, silk blouse. She tucked it in, flicked her hair back, and took a quiet breath.

She’d been having a sexually-based relationship with Jamie Moriarty for quite some time now. She’d been with women before, plenty of them, and if she weighed it up she’d probably slept with more of them than she had men. But this was an entirely different experience on a whole new level.

After every encounter with Jamie, she was more sated than any other and, more sated than the last one. The last time they’d slept together she’d had to stay for a little while, her legs too shaky to hold her weight.

Every session was planned. Scheduled. She had to fit into Jamie’s rota and vice versa – so she’d decided to change it up a little and surprise her. With minimal research she found a floor of offices that Jamie rented, a useful workplace even for criminals.

She smoothed her skirt out again and picked up the paper bag she’d brought with her, then pushed the door open.

Jamie was on the phone, turning from side to side in her swivel chair, and looked at Joan in surprise. “I’ve got to go, something’s come up. I’ll call you back later,” She excused, hanging up and raising an eyebrow at Miss Watson.

Joan smiled and shut the door, walking over to the ornate wooden desk and surprised to note that it didn’t seem out of place amidst the otherwise modern décor of the office.

“What are you doing here?” Jamie asked curiously, leaning forward to rest her forearms on the desk.

“Brought you lunch,” Joan smirked, tossing the paper bag at her. It landed gently, and Jamie narrowed her eyes in suspicion – it sounded empty.

“How did you find this place?” she questioned, feeling the weight of the bag.

“You didn’t exactly try to hide that you were renting it. Maybe next time you shouldn’t use ‘Jamie Adler’ as an alias, hm?”

Jamie tilted her head a little in respect for Joan’s detective skills – she knew Sherlock couldn’t have helped her, that would have given their dalliance away.

She peeked inside the bag and a lecherous grin found it’ way onto her lips. “Darling, what’s your underwear doing in my lunchbag?”

Joan smiled and pointed at herself with both index fingers. ‘ _I’m_ lunch.”

“I’m slightly disappointed, I’m legitimately hungry,” Jamie frowned, but stood up nonetheless. She tugged Joan to one of the shorter sides of her desk, pushing her against the edge and holding her there by setting her hands on the surface.

“I need to know,” she asked, lips brushing Joan’s as she spoke. “Did you walk all the way here with your knickers in a bag for me? Or did you take them off in the loos?”

“I walked all the way,” Joan muttered, slipping her fingers into the belt loops on Jamie’s trousers and pulling her body closer. Jamie tilted her head, prompting her to go on, wanting to hear it from her. “With my best panties in a paper bag, just for you.”

The blonde smiled, lifting Joan up onto the desk and making them an equal height before finally kissing her, not hesitating to slip out her tongue. Her hands slid to Joan’s spine, pulling her close as she stood between her legs – the skirt bunched halfway up her thighs.

It wasn’t enough, that little bit of room, so she hurried to bring it up around Joan’s hips, letting out a soft moan and seeing that Joan wasn’t wearing a second pair of underwear like she’d expected.

Joan grinned, one hand in Jamie’s hair and the other holding the back of her neck.

“You always manage to surprise me, Joan Watson.”

“Good,” Joan muttered, biting Jamie’s bottom lip gently. “Keeps things interesting.”

Jamie began to unbutton Joan’s shirt, then kissed her way down her chest. She stopped at her belly button and stood up again for more kisses, cupping Joan’s cheek.

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t emotionally invested in the consulting detective sitting before her.

Joan didn’t even like to think about the fact she wanted more than just sex from the criminal mastermind stood between her legs.

They pulled back for a moment, breathing heavy and just watching each other, before Joan noticed a suspicious red dot wavering on Jamie’s temple.

She reacted quicker than she ever had before, shoving Jamie down and then turning to cover her, shifting them behind the desk just after a bullet shattered the floor-to-ceiling window.

They lay on the floor in front of the desk, shielded from the windows, and both took a moment to register what had just happened.

“You,” Jamie said quietly, in shock, “Joan, you saved my life.”

Joan climbed off of her, careful not to let her head rise above the desk, and sat back against it. Jamie sat up too, and looked around at the shattered glass, following the trajectory of where the bullet would have gone.

“I can’t see it,” she said, frowning. “I can’t see the bullet.”

Joan felt a twinge of pain in her right shoulder, and when she pulled her hand away she swallowed in fear. “Found it,” she said quietly, showing Jamie the blood on her fingers. “How come someone as smart as you hasn’t invested in bulletproof glass?” she questioned, starting to properly feel the pain now.

“Because they’re supposed to come and fit it next week,” Jamie explained, pulling Joan’s skirt down and considering their next steps. “We’ll have to crawl out of the room and I’ll drive us to the hospital,” she said, taking Joan’s hand. “Can you do that?”

“Just call an ambulance,” Joan groaned, grimacing a little.

“What, and have the paramedics sniped out as they rush in? I’d rather not. You go first.”

“Just so you can stare at my ass,” Joan grumbled, shuffling towards the door like a three legged dog, grabbing the handle and yanking the door open before, say, she could get shot in the hand too.

Jamie followed her out, closing the door behind her and helping Joan to her feet. She held her close as they made their way down to the underground parking, and Joan shrugged off her offer of helping her into the passenger seat.

“Take your time, okay?” Joan said, hand over the wound to keep pressure on it. “We don’t want a car chase or to get pulled over or something.”

“Fine,” Jamie nodded, starting to make her way to the hospital. “I wanted to get you there fast, but fine. Whatever you want.”

~~~

“Well the bullet is still in there, looks like something’s torn too,” the doctor said, and pulled her gloves on to better inspect it. “I’ll give you a local anaesthetic and get to work.”

“I’ll go outside and call Sherlock,” Jamie muttered, feeling guilty for Joan’s injury – if it had been higher, she’d be dead.

“No, you’re not leaving my sight,” Joan, said, shaking her head and reaching her left hand out for Jamie. “If whoever did this followed us here, then you’re in danger. And I can’t,” she sighed, unable to find the right words. “I don’t want you to be in danger.”

“If you give me his number, I’ll have the front desk call,” The doctor suggested, dropping the bullet onto a metal tray.

“I’ll need to take that for evidence, please,” Joan told her, looking down at it.

“I can only give it to the NYPD.”

“I consult with the NYPD.”

“If you don’t have a badge, you don’t get the bullet.”

Joan groaned unhappily. She was still feeling pain in her shoulder despite the anaesthetic, and she just didn’t understand why doctors had to be so damn _difficult_ , despite the fact that a few years ago she would’ve said the same thing.

“It’ll be alright, darling,” Jamie promised, standing closer. “Once Sherlock hears you’ve been shot, he’ll no doubt bring Gregson with him.”

“What will you do?” Joan asked. “They’re both mad you were acquitted, I think they’d hate to see you, and you know Sherlock will only blame you for this.”

“And rightly so,” Jamie muttered, writing down his number from Joan’s phone and giving it to the doctor now that she’d finished Joan’s stitches. “You were injured in my office, by a bullet meant for me. He’ll be furious. But I’ll be staying because you want me here, right?”

Joan nodded, sitting up and finding a lack of feeling in her arm. “I can’t believe I took a bullet for you. Just wait until my insurance company hears about this,” she laughed, holding her phone up to her ear. “Yes, hello, I got shot protecting my criminal mastermind girlfriend,” she joked, then looked down at her feet and held her phone in her lap.

She definitely had not meant to say ‘girlfriend’.

Jamie watched her for a moment, and reached out to run a hand through Joan’s hair. “Do you want to try that again?”

Joan smiled almost bashfully, blushing a little. “I think I’m okay with it,” she admitted, looking up. “Unless you’re not.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Unexpected, but fine. We’ve never done anything that warrants a relationship, nut I don’t see why we can’t start one. We’re obviously quite fond of each other, or I’d be dead right now.”

“I think I would have pushed you out of the way under _any_ circumstances. Mainly because I can’t imagine you dying like that, it’s… too simple, for you. I can see you putting up one hell of a fight before you even think about the possibility of going down.”

“All I wanted was to go down,” Jamie sighed, pulling Joan into a kiss, and clarifying, “On you.”

They continued to kiss for a moment, mirroring the scene not ten, fifteen minutes earlier when they were at the desk.

“You saved my life today, Joan,” she whispered. “If you hadn’t come to surprise me, I’d no doubt be dead.”

“Keeps things interesting, right?”

~~~

“Watson, I came as quickly as I could,” Sherlock said, rushing into the room. “Are you alri- what’s she doing here? Did she shoot you?” he asked, staring Moriarty down as she sat beside Joan on the examination table.

“I would never,” Jamie defended quickly, giving Sherlock as good a hateful stare as she was getting. “Joan took the bullet _for_ me, not _from_ me.

He frowned and looked between them for a moment before focusing on Joan. “What?”

She sighed and adjusted her arm in the sling. “I saw a sniper dot on Jamie. I pushed her out of the way.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same, Sherlock. I mean, you loved her once. You always see Irene – if you saw a sniper dot you’d push her too.”

Sherlock pursed his lips and cleared his throat, hands in his coat pockets. He knew she was right - Joan was always right about him. “Why were you with her?”

“She wanted to have lunch and show me her art.”

She knew he knew she was lying, how could he not, but he didn’t press the issue. He’d been trying his best at keeping Joan’s right to privacy and, since the kidnapping, had resolved to only ask for more information if he thought she might be endangered by the situation.

“Well, I’ll leave you to give a statement to Captain Gregson,” he said, nodding a little and taking Gregson’s badge so he could claim the bullet.

After they both explained exactly what happened, Moriarty looked quite pleased with herself, while Joan was blushing quite brightly.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Sherlock,” he promised, also slightly flustered and embarrassed on Joan’s behalf. “We’ll have to look at your office, you should both come, so that you can recreate it – just the part with the shooting – and it might help us with trajectory and a possible shooting location, okay?”

They both nodded, and after he too had left, Jamie leant in to kiss Joan’s neck. “Reliving it is making me want to finish what we started,” she muttered, stroking a hand up and down Joan’s thigh.

The touch made her bite her lip and look sideways at Jamie. “What if my blood is on the lunch bag? They’ll take it as evidence. _They’ll take my underwear as evidence_.”

“I doubt it, darling,” Jamie smiled, “It’ll be fine. I can call ahead to tell Sheila to put them in her office, just in case, if you like?” she suggested, and Joan nodded.

“Okay, well, I’m going to go to the bathroom, I’ll text her there.”

Joan was about to protest, but Jamie kissed her to stop her. “Don’t worry, I grabbed my gun from the car,” she whispered, lifting up the beck of her jacket as she walked away to flash the handle of the gun to Joan.

She was back without fuss though, Sherlock hot on her heels, and Jamie held out a bottle of juice for Joan. “Low blood, low blood sugar,” she said, taking a moment to check up on Joan’s wound and then staying behind her. “Don’t worry, we’ll find who did this to you,” she promised gently.

Without really thinking about it, Jamie pressed a kiss an inch or two above the wound, and Joan leant back into the touch as Sherlock stared unhappily.


	2. Chapter 2

“So,” Gregson started with a huff, arms folded over his chest. “You two were… well, like that,” he said, nodding towards Jamie and Joan, replicating their position at the desk. Sherlock stood off in a corner, grimacing to himself and his hands curled into loose fists at his side.

Joan was blushing a bright red; normally she wouldn’t be too bothered by public displays of affection, sexual or otherwise, but the whole situation was ridiculously awkward. Being held against a desk by a criminal mastermind she was having regular sex with and who had previously had a romantic altercation with the man she worked with.

Definitely awkward.

“And then what happened?” he asked, and Joan swallowed a little, holding her right hand to her chest to avoid more pain.

“I saw the sniper dot on Jamie’s temple,” she said, noticing Sherlock’s poorly disguised scoff at the use of the blonde’s first name. “I pushed her,” she used her left hand to push down on Jamie’s shoulder, bringing her head to Joan’s breast level (which Jamie smiled quite happily at). “And then turned,” she explained, doing so.

“Stop,” Moriarty suddenly muttered, looking over Joan’s shoulder and keeping her in place. “The bullet hit you right here, with you leaning over me. I know because I remember a second push, the velocity of the bullet into your shoulder.”

Jamie splayed her hands out mid-air to tell Joan to stay in place, and circled her. “Your wound, when it was being stitched up, you were hunched over like this then, too. But your wound, it’s parallel to your body. From right here, it’s pointing downwards.”

“You’re saying the sniper wasn’t in line, they weren’t on the same floor of another building,” Joan muttered, standing up and looking through the windows. “But these buildings all have the same amount of floors, and this is the top one.

“Meaning he was-”

“On the roof,” Jamie finished with a smirk, and both women turned to look at Gregson. “You’ll need to get up on the tiles of the building opposite, Captain. Probably not you yourself, of course.”

“I’ll go up,” Sherlock suggested, feeling a little out of the loop.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Holmes, this is where CSRU comes in. You can wait until there’s something more… fitting for you okay? You won’t tell anything from a slightly dislodged tile or something, and it's not your job to dust for prints.”

~~~

“How are you feeling?” Jamie asked Joan softly, setting a hot cup of tea in her hands. Joan was drowsy from the painkillers she’d been taking, and rubbed her eyes with one hand.

“I feel fine. You don’t have to be here, you know,” she smiled a little. “At the brownstone. I _am_ a grown woman, I can look after myself, Jamie.”

“I know you can, but I do like to make sure. This is all my fault, after all.”

“Don’t blame yourself…”

“Not to mention that my presence and my affection for you is royally pissing Sherlock off,‘ the blonde grinned, resting her arm on the back of the sofa and leaning closer to Joan.

“Watson!” Sherlock shouted from the kitchen. “There's been a rather startling discovery that I think you should see!”

Joan sighed and Jamie helped her up, carrying the tea for her. When they got downstairs, Sherlock sat at the kitchen table with files scattered all around him. “I said, Watson, not Moriarty.”

“Where Joan goes, I go. You’d do well to remember that.”

He made a grunt of disapproval but sat up straighter. “I just got off the phone with Captain Gregson. A rather smart young woman in CSRU was on the roof, with two others, when she looked over at one of the other buildings and noticed an oscillating security camera in one of the other offices.

“Based on her observation, Detective Bell went over with a warrant for the security tape, and I’ve been sent the footage. I think you’ll find it quite intriguing,” he finished, turning his tablet around and tapping the screen to play.

Jamie and Joan watched as a (rather small) black woman made her way up the fire escape, duffel bag slung over her back, and swung herself onto the roof. She made her way to the side that face Jamie’s office, careful not to slip on the angled slate. She took up purchase at the edge, heels pushing against the gutter, and assembled her weapon.

“Well I think it’s quite obvious that’s who did it,” Joan muttered as she saw the woman take the shot, getting an extra twinge of pain in her shoulder.

“Unfortunately there isn’t a clear shot of her face, making her unidentifiable,” Sherlock added, as she climbed her way back down and made a run for it.

~~~

“You failed.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that, _now_ ,” she sighed. “I wasn’t really paying attention once I took it. Just had to get out, like _you said_. How was I supposed to know that chick was gonna protect her? Thought she was some prostitute or somethin’, they usually don’t care.”

“Get out, and try again, or no money.”

“You said you would pay me when I got back.”

“Payment for a task usually depends on whether or not the task was done. Kill Moriarty, and you will get paid.”

~~~

“Leave it to me,” Sherlock promised, “I will find out her identity.”

“You mustn’t set the police on her, Sherlock,” Jamie told him. “You will leave me to deal with her.”

“Absolutely not, Joan is _my_ roommate, _my_ sober companion, _my_ partner in consulting detecting. You will leave this woman to me.”

“Joan is my lover and my… girlfriend, she was shot by a bullet meant for _me_ , and it is my duty to-”

“Stop it!” Joan yelled, Moriarty and Sherlock up in each others faces. “Stop talking about me as if I’m not here, and stop treating me like I’m a child who needs protecting.”

Sherlock nodded as a form of apology, and then walked away to continue his research.

“Joan, my apologies, I-”

“You’re already forgiven for calling me your girlfriend,” Joan smirked. “I didn’t think you’d be the kind of person to be in a relationship. You seem like a lone wolf.”

“I suppose, but… we’ve been beating around the bush, don’t you agree?”

Joan smirked. “I know there’s been _something_ around the bush, but I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“I mean that we’ve been sleeping together for almost eight months now, and four months ago we began taking breakfasts and lunches and dinners together, and then they stopped culminating in coitus. We became focused on having the meal together instead of hinting at what – or who – might come after.”

Joan tilted her head to the side, taking back the tea. “Are you saying we’ve been dating for four months?”

“And that it’s about time it was official, yes. You understand you may become a target? Someone may wish to use you to get to me, and that could very well happen on this case.”

“I think you’re worth the risk.”

“Why would someone like you think that about someone like me?”

“Because,” Joan said, finishing her tea. “You make me happy.”

~~~

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Joan whispered, closing her eyes. “I’m injured, what if we tear my stitches?”

“Then I’ll stitch you back up after I make you scream for me. Your orgasm will release endorphins and the pain will subside long enough for me to fix it.”

“I’m not letting you give me stitches-shit!” she gasped, her left hand running up Jamie’s thigh to hold onto her hip as the woman removed her own navy blue, lacy underwear. “God, you’re so hot…”

Jamie was straddling Joan’s waist, nude now whereas Joan remained clothed. “Is that a ‘lets do this’?” She grinned.

“Shut up,” Joan rolled her eyes, pulling herself up for a kiss.

Jamie cupped the back of Joan’s neck, holding her in place as she slipped her tongue out. Joan moaned – it had been over two weeks since they’d last had sex, and Joan knew how helpful an orgasm or two (or four, perhaps) would be.

She moaned, feeling Jamie’s arm tense up to keep hold of her, enjoying when Jamie was in control, which, admittedly, was almost all the time. ‘Almost’ because there was one or two times where Joan had handcuffed Jamie to her bed and taken control.

Her moan drew one from Jamie, who took hold of Joan’s hand and moved it to her breast.

They pulled back from the kiss and Jamie took a shaky breath that she tried to hide. Everything felt slow, sensual. It was passionate, yes, but a different kind of passion to what she was used to with Joan.

Their sex was usually hungry, greedy and desperate. Joan’s touch on her breast felt so gentle, caring.

Joan lay against Jamie’s chest a little over an hour later, stitches thankfully intact. “You’re amazing,” she sighed, kissing Jamie’s neck.

Jamie looked down at Joan. She couldn’t help but feel a little romantically claustrophobic.

She wasn’t used to this. They didn’t cuddle after sex, not ever, not once in their eight month dalliance. They ate, they fucked, and either someone left or they fell asleep next to each other; it depended on how hard they’d been at it. But they never, not once, cuddled.

She felt suffocated, and she hated it. She hated that she was lying there with the woman she held feelings for, and she hated that she was uncomfortable. No one should be uncomfortable next to their girlfriend after a fantastic romp.

Joan felt herself being stared at, and lifted herself up on her good arm to look down at Jamie.

“What’s wrong?” She questioned, her own right hand resting under her own breast and wishing she dared to bear the pain that would come with reaching out to touch Jamie.

Jamie stared up at her, debating whether or not to be totally honest. “I need some air,” she muttered finally. “And a fag.”

She rolled out of bed, out from under Joan’s stare, and pulled on her paint-splattered shirt, buttoning it up and digging through her bag.

“I think that might be… rude…” Joan muttered, confused.

“It’s a cigarette, darling. What we call a cigarette.”

“Since when do you smoke?”

Jamie didn’t answer that she only smoked when she was stressed. She was about to roll it in the room, but instead grabbed her tin and lighter and left the room. Joan stared after her and shook her head, flopping onto her front and deciding to let her be.

~~~

“You shouldn’t smoke here,” Sherlock said, opening the kitchen door and looking at Jamie, who was stood outside in only her shirt. “Aren’t you cold?”

“It’s refreshing, and you can deal with it. I highly doubt you’ll be tempted by second hand smoke after two solid years of sobriety,” she told him, glancing sideways. “What do you want?”

“To keep my eye on you. Can’t have you running off to commit crime, can we?”

“I wouldn’t commit crime half naked. Besides, I’ve already committed one tonight.”

“Mm, yes, debauching Joan.”

Jamie scoffed. “If you think Joan _has_ innocence that I could even disgrace, you’d be sorely mistaken. No, I left her.”

He stared for a moment. “What?”

“I mean, we were there,” she sighed, unintentionally opening up to him. “ _Cuddling_ ,” she said with a hint of disgust. “And I couldn’t handle it, so I came down here. Needed away.”

“You’re afraid of committing to her.”

“No, I’m quite happy to commit. I’m not used to the affection. We’re rough. I thought that was _who_ we were; rough, jagged. Desperately horny.” Sherlock grimaced. “I just don’t want…”

He waited patiently, taking a seat on the bench outside, crossing his legs, and clasping his hands in his lap as he looked over at her, leaning against the wall, and let her continue at her own pace.

“To lose her,” she finally said, taking a drag and flicking the ash away. “I find that Joan is very important to me. I find myself thinking about her when she isn’t with me. I find myself avoiding a complete murder because I don’t think I could bear you two investigating a murder I committed. I don’t think I could bear her coming to her senses, realising that she’s fucking a murderer, a villain, and ending things.”

“You think you love her,” Sherlock said quietly, “But you can’t be sure. Because as much as you claim to know about the world, love is something you don’t quite get.”

The corner of Jamie’s mouth twitched up a little. “She said those exact words to me, about you. At the Fuller residence.”

“So she told me,” he nodded.

“Do you know, I think I’m beginning to understand love. The romantic kind.”

“Why make the distinction?”

“Because I do feel love, Sherlock. I love Kayden. I love my mother.”

He expected her to finish off with ‘I love Joan’. She didn’t.

“I know you’re aware that I’m not exactly comfortable or approving of your relationship with Joan…” he told her. “I can’t wholly fathom why, presume a mix of jealousy and possessiveness. But it occurs to me that, if you don’t want to lose her…”

Jamie looked at him curiously, glad to have his input.

“You might not want to walk away from her. She may take your hesitance as indifference, and walk away of her own accord, because she thinks you’re not interested now that you have her fully in your grasp.”

“Are you suggesting that she’ll think I’m done now that I’ve, what, conquered her?”

“That’s precisely what I’m saying. You know as well as I do that it’s true.”

Jamie looked to the paving slabs on the ground, taking one last, long drag of her cigarette and dropping it to the floor. “You can put that out,” She said, smiling at him and heading inside. She always liked having the last word.

“You’re back,” Joan muttered, hearing the door open. “Collecting your things?”

Jamie let out a sigh as she climbed into bed behind Joan and ran her hand over her bare back, kissing her neck. “Why on earth would I want to do that?”

Joan smiled.

~~~

“Holmes! Watson!” Moriarty shouted, rushing into the Brownstone. The pair looked up from their seats in the library where they’d been discussing possibilities.

“I’ve just returned from a positively _enlightening_ meeting with an old friend of mine. She’s halfway to completing a far more reliable piece of recognition software. The program looks at a file and then filters through millions and billions of images all over the internet to find a match, and then narrows it down to a probable list based on area.

“I sent her a few select screenshots from that security video, and we have twelve suspects.”

She held out two copies of a file folder for Joan and Sherlock. “She then provided me with as much documentation as possible on all of them. Some of them have no criminal records, but luckily they all drive.”

“So now all we have to do is narrow it down,” Joan nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, I see the shooter as played by the lovely, the gorgeous, the fantastic Nicole Beharie.


End file.
